


so dont be a dream

by sicklikewinter



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, M/M, sads, sads as far as the eye can see
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 16:27:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/652210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sicklikewinter/pseuds/sicklikewinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>But it must have been fake, I think.</i>
  <br/>
  <i>If so don't wake me up; just let me be.</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Whoa-oh baby, please</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Don't be a dream.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	so dont be a dream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [arbhorwitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arbhorwitch/gifts).



> idk if i did this right  
> but i tried ok  
> itried.jpg

He ignores you for the call of the wild, nature, and adventure—and you try, honest to fucking  _god_  you try to understand—and he sometimes forgets his mind, and sometimes forgets you even exist. He’s halfway across the globe, in Egypt during your 2 year anniversary, and he skypes you with a sheepish look and a sunburn that could rival your own.

Jake English is as untouchable as that fucking artifact in the usual Indiana Jones movie, where disaster strikes every time its touched or moved. Not even Jones could save you from the calamity of falling harder and harder for Jake, despite the distance and the isolation.

So when you wake up one night, wide-eyed and panting for air (nightmare), you notice the bed isn’t empty, and it’s… a surprise. Your wild haired angel is laying in bed, curled up and wrapped up in blankets. You watch him quietly for a few moments, and your heart stills immediately.  He’s  **there**  in your arms, rightfuckingthere!, and it’s  ** _nice_**.

Jake shifts in the bed, and you tense, ready to fake sleeping; if only to sit and watch him a few more moments— _him_  stationary! for once! and he was  _ **home**_  with  _you_! what a concept to behold—but he does nothing more than turn over and give a little, wet snorfk of a snort-snore.

The sound almost makes you want to burst into tears, and you can remember static skype calls where he’s fallen asleep before you on cam—after a show hes given you or youve given him and youre both too exhausted to say anything but sit in the silence and bliss of your releases—but you refrain and simply trace the contour of his cheek gently.

Jake shifts again and hums quietly, and you cease stroking his cheek. He hums and his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks as he blearily looks up at you. His face is lit up by what little moonlight escaping into the room through the blinds, and you fall in love with him all over again—the absences from your apartment forgiven, his face the picture of innocence and of a boy who just woke up from a sleep—and you pull your hand away. He sits up and rubs his eyes, mumbling incoherently before finally you grip his hand. 

“What’s all the hullabaloo about Strider? I was having a tiptop kind of dream with pirates and damsel savin—”

“I had a dream you never loved me.”

Jake ceases his rubbing, and freezes, green eyes wide. He watches you warily, and you don’t want to play those stupid fucking ‘ask Dirk twenty fucking questions when in all actuality he was being Fucking Serious’ games. You just want your boyfriend to fucking **listen**  to you and not play pretend all over again.

Jake opens his mouth once, twice, and one last time before he just  _leaps_ at you. It makes you start, a noise that sounds like, “fuck!” and he only clings to you tighter. He ignores your protests, your complaints that he’d be tired in the morning for his trip to Cairo, and instead he presses frantic kisses to your cheeks and your forehead.

“By jimineys Dirk! Why didn’t you wake me up sooner?” his voice is loud in your ears, and you can feel the burn of embarrassment (but that’s silly you’re not embarrassed, not at all) on your cheeks but you let out a puff of annoyed air. 

“Because you need rest for your trip tomorrow.”

When Jake pulls away from you, the look on Jake’s face is torn between hurt and a sudden realization you’re not quite sure you get just yet. He is quiet as he buries his head back into the crook where your neck meets shoulder and sighs heavily. 

“Jeepers Dirk I think I’ve been a complete and utter dickweed, haven’t I?” his voice is muffled, and it kind of tickles against your skin. You shrug, hoping the movement conveys your every feeling—except you dont you want to scream at him yes you fucking nimrod i think you dont even fucking love me anymore!! youre never around and you ignore my calls why why why?!—because you’re pretty fucking positive stupidity will fall from your lips if you try to speak.

He continues to mouth “I’m sorry”s into your skin, and you can feel your heart tightening with every word. You don’t know if you’re relieved he’s finally, finally, _finally_  listening! to you! about this, or if you know he’s only doing it because it’s the “gentlemanly” thing to do.

You’re tired and you’re exhausted from the repeat dreams of his negligence and inability to fucking  ** _love_**  you. You can see the clock over his shoulder and you watch the red numbers on Jake’s clock switch to 4:48 AM. You honestly don’t have anything left inside you to  _feel_  and you wonder if this is the precursor to the end.

(he’s never around and he’s probably still blissfully unaware that he’s  **hurting**  you so fucking badly, that dense idiot)

“You should really go back to sleep dude, I didn’t mean to interrupt your beauty rest. I’ll just curl up on the couch and let you have the bed,” your voice is quiet, monotonous and you hope Jake takes the hint (he doesn’t). He holds you tighter and shakes his head.

You don’t understand the movement, and you’re at a loss for words all over again. It makes you anxious all over again. He’s going to be so utterly exhausted when he gets to Cairo. You can feel him shake slightly as he continues to move his head back and forth. 

“No I don’t think I’m feeling up to Cairo Dirk… It seems like I feel a bit under the weather,” he turns his head to the side and fucking  _coughs_  in the most pathetic kind of way, “I don’t think I can make it.”

It makes you think of that one movie you and he sat through one night, with Lindsey Lohan in it and you can’t help it, you snort quietly and respond with a, “Boo, you whore.” and he lets out a  _bark_  of laughter. His entire being is shaking as he flops to the side, bringing you with him, the sudden somber mood gone at his utter shenanigans with dumb movie references.

The two of you lay tangled up in one another’s arms and legs, and  _laugh_. It hurts your chest to laugh so hard and for so long, and Jake is turning a gross purple-red color, but it’s something you  _needed._  Jake too. He stops laughing, though he’s still snickering quietly; and he leans in close to press his lips to your forehead. It sends warmth down your spine, and you close your eyes. 

“I really do love you Dirk, please don’t let a dream convince you otherwise,” his voice is subdued as you listen to his voice. It makes you ache and you don’t know why. It’s comforting, and you smile slightly. You nod your head, and Jake smooshes you to his chest, breathing slowing down. You can feel yourself relaxing as well and drifting off as well.

You fall asleep to the feeling of Jake’s breathing and his warmth wrapped up around you.

It’s  _nice_.

(when you wake up you realize that it was a fucking  ** _dream_** , and there’s a note on your bedside table, jake’s handwriting nearly illegible “i’ll be seeing you in a few months strider!”)

You curl up under the blankets and feel sick.


End file.
